Death Is The Road To Awe
by TrixTheFlowery
Summary: Mical teaches a youngling to use the archives and is forced to answer a number of difficult questions in regard to Master Surik; the tired looking woman who strolls the halls alone dressed all in black. What makes a true Jedi? A sad little drabble that looks into the future after KotOR 2 and expands on Meetra's motivations for going after Revan. Spoilers for "Not What You Wanted."


**_"Sadness gives depth. Happiness gives height. Sadness gives roots. Happiness gives branches. Happiness is like a tree going into the sky, and sadness is like the roots going down into the womb of the earth. Both are needed, and the higher a tree goes, the deeper it goes, simultaneously. The bigger the tree, the bigger will be its roots. In fact, it is always in proportion. That's its balance." _**

**_-Osho_**

"Why is Master Surik sad?"

Mical looked at the youngling through the disorganized lock of blonde hair that had fallen over his eyes as he studied with the child in the insubstantial aqua light of the archives.

"Sad?" Mical repeated. "Whatever gives you that impression?"

The youngling shrugged his shoulders confidently; his name was Garresh and he was a well-spoken and astonishingly bright child, well beyond his nine years.

"I saw her walking alone in the halls again this morning on my way to breakfast. She's always alone unless she's teaching." The doe-eyed child leaned closer to Mical and his voice dropped to a whisper. "And she always wears black. All black except for those white flowers in her hair." He looked over his shoulders and dropped his voice even further, as though he feared rebuke. "Meriphyn Tully told me those flowers are death-blooms."

Mical chuckled patiently. "If Meriphyn put as much effort into his studies as he does discerning flowers, he wouldn't find himself in so much trouble with Master Surik all the time." He set down his datapad and Garresh followed his lead and did the same. "What's the first line of the Jedi code, Garresh?"

"_There is no emotion, there is peace."_ He quoted proudly.

"That's right. Yet you think that Master Surik is sad because she is often alone and wears dark clothing? Do you think this is a fair assessment based only on what you've observed? Perhaps she simply likes the colour."

The youngling took a moment to turn the question over in his mind before answering.

"Well…" He began a little more cautiously this time. "I do know that in many systems people wear black when they're sad, like when someone dies. The Sith often wear black as well, but Master Surik obviously isn't Sith, so the only possible explanation is that she's sad. Maybe someone is sick, or someone died."

Mical studied the innocent face of the child before him. Garresh was cunning and observant and glossing over the truth of the question would not serve to help this young Jedi: It would be a lesson he would have to learn one day.

"In some ways you're right, young one." Mical began. "In some ways you are wrong: Jedi who adhere to the code of the Order do not know sadness, nor do they know anger or joy in the conventional sense: We know no emotion, only peace. This does not mean that we are inhuman, unfeeling beings, for without feeling we would have no compassion or empathy.

"As Jedi we are tasked to understand emotion, and to know it, but we must not allow it to control us or the choices we make which inevitably affect those around us." He tapped the stylus of his datapad against the table as he searched for further words to explain the complicated situation to the youngling sitting next to him: It was not an easy task. He had dealt personally with the fallout wrought by Atton's death. It was he who had to practically drag Meetra back to the Ebon Hawk as Malachor V collapsed around them, imploring her that it was over and that all she could do now was choose to live.

He stood by her side in the days and weeks that followed. He had respected her wish that she give Atton a private burial on Dantooine and he had stayed loyally with her in the months afterward when she donned her dark skirts and wove frangipani flowers into her hair for the first time since the Mandalorian Wars: Meriphyn was wrong… they weren't death-blooms. To some cultures maybe, but he knew that Meetra wore them to represent only one thing; loyalty.

At every turn he was there to gently pick her up and dust her off and nudge her away from the darkness as she sunk into a deep and nearly catatonic state of madness: She spent the better part of a year searching night and day for lost texts and ancient holocrons, all the while proclaiming to merely be 'interested in the deeper mysteries.' He was no fool though and she only ever admitted it at the end of her search that she was searching for a way to find _him_. Talk to him, see him, hear him, bring him back… Mical never fully understood what she intended, but he never once dreamed of abandoning her to her pain, and she was grateful for it even as she became someone else.

It had been a long and emotionally exhausting ordeal, but one day she simply gave up her dangerous dabbling and risky search for things that were better left buried. She picked up and returned to Coruscant where she built a wall of responsibility around herself and she never again mentioned that period of time. Or Atton.

The Order was once again flourishing and though it would take an entire lifetime for everything to be set right again, but Meetra's dedication had been key, however the victory was punctuated by the stain of a bitter victory that walked the halls late into the night and early in the morning, a solitary figure in closely fit black robes and layered skirts: Always thinking, always silent, always dreaming.

The Meetra he had known was no more, as he knew that the Meetra of the Mandalorian Wars became no more than a memory in the years that immediately followed. She socialized as she used to, built relations within the Republic, smiled, gave interviews to media outlets, attended Senate meetings and gave her time and energy to both the padawans she served and the world outside, but if Mical knew anything about Meetra, it was that she was a talented actress, and when all of these things were done for the day and she was free from calls to speak and teach and inspire, she became someone who had few words and fewer loves: Just as she had once severed herself from the Force to protect herself, she had reacted to her grief by severing all connections to the people and things that surrounded her. She had seemingly transcended human emotion and aligned herself to the never-ending cycle of the cosmos that lived and breathed around her.

He missed her love of music and her terrible singing... her inclination to dance when she heard a song she liked and the long, passionate conversations that went late into the night. He missed her practical jokes and her unquenchable desire to explore and experience and her rough, no-nonsense demeanour that was balanced by a sort of compassion and understanding that he had seen in few other people. More than anything, he missed his friend.

"You must understand, Garresh, that Master Surik has seen much in her life: The Mandalorian Wars, and her rise and fall as Revan's general, her exile by the old Council, and the years she spent without the Force, her eventual return to Republic space and re-connection with the Force… these are all things you know, yes?" He waited for the youngling to nod. Of course he knew; everyone knew. "You know most recently of her ordeal with the Sith Triumvirate, her witness of the destruction of the last of the Council, and the loss of a… of a dear friend?"

"Everything except the friend part." Garresh said quietly.

Mical acknowledged the boy's admittance. "These events have all shaped Master Surik and made her the woman she is today, but I think that '_sad_' is the wrong word to use for what Master Surik is. She has been shaped by her experiences and decisions, as are we all: She has learned from them, and grown from them, but she does not allow them to rule her present choices. You're right to say that she has indeed been through sadness and difficult times, but she has also seen much happiness and joy. What sets a true Jedi apart is not what emotions they feel or do not feel, but rather how they choose to handle these feelings. Master Surik chooses to teach you and the rest of us because she believes in us. She believes that what the Jedi stand for can be good and just and should be carried on. I don't doubt that she keeps some memories quite close to her heart, but I believe that at her core, Master Surik lives with a sort of peace inside of her." It wasn't a lie. She was at peace in one way or another. Each day she woke up served as constant vigil for the day when she would finally become one with the Force. Until then she would carry on; not happily, not sadly. She would simply be.

Garresh's brown eyes studied the table as he considered Mical's explanation and the fledgling Master prayed that it had enlightened the boy rather than confused him: He couldn't be sure that he had gotten his precise point across… Meetra was an enigma, even to himself.

"She's very brave isn't she?" Garresh said finally, adopting a reverence that surprised Mical.

"Very." Mical agreed, picking up his datapad, signaling it was time to resume the lesson and cease chatting. Garresh did the same thing, though he asked another question.

"Was this friend that she lost a Jedi like you?"

His eyes wandered to their periphery when he caught the scent of frangipani flowers in the air, and he could swear that he heard the most subtle suggestion of footsteps and the whispering of skirts. He idly wondered how long Meetra had been listening.

"Oh yes." Mical answered softly, "He was a fine Jedi." He couldn't say that he had ever been close to Atton; 'friendly' was a generous adjective, but he did come to respect the merit of the man over time. "We could have all learned much from him."

"What was his name?"

"His name was Atton Rand."

Mical lifted his eyes to see Meetra at the edge of the table, resting her palms flat on the smooth surface, her pale, tired face cutting eerily through the dim blue light. "And he would have had his work cut out for him, handling inquisitive younglings like you." The faintest hint of a mischievous smile crossed her face as she regarded Garresh. "Learning to use the archives are we?"

Garresh nodded, never once losing his confidence: It wasn't hard. Despite the obvious fact that something unnatural lived deep inside of Meetra, she had never lost her charismatic and influential way with people young and old: She could turn it on and off like a switch by this time in her life and the younglings adored her.

"Perhaps you would like to put your skills to the test and find some material for me?"

"I could do it." The youngling's eyes lit with an innocent eagerness to prove himself and Meetra rewarded the boy with a kind smile.

"I need everything you can possibly find about Master Revan. I mean everything; before, during and after the wars, up until the time he disappeared. Dare you accept my challenge?"

Garresh nodded and slid off his stool, already halfway down the aisle. Mical waited until the boy was out of earshot before looking at her. He was he looked placidly into Meetra's bright eyes and a silent understanding was shared between the two of them in that single glance.

"Glad he was around. Hate looking for anything in this room anyway… it's dark and depressing and – "

Mical cut off her hushed mumbling, "You're going to try and find him, aren't you?"

She only nodded slowly once as her eyes dropped away from his in a somewhat shamed fashion and Mical knew there would be no stopping her this time: She had been searching for an excuse to leave this place for years, and now she finally had one that wasn't mad. Her restlessness had burdened her in the recent months as she became more aware that things here would be safe in Mical's hands. The Order was well on its way to stability now and it seemed that all she was left with was memories and idle time in which to drown in them. She didn't have to tell him that she wanted to go: She needed to run and she was finally comfortable enough with the state of the Order that she could freely flirt with the death which she craved and devote the time to finding another lost friend who, for all anybody knew, was just as dead as Atton:

Revan.


End file.
